Counting the seconds
You have been in the hospice for five days.
.
At first, we focussed on getting the pain under control;
and rebuilding your strength.
.
But, in the past 24 hours, you have become weaker.
.
Last night you slept badly.
And today you drift in and out of consciousness.
As you sleep, I count the seconds between your breaths.
1
2
3
a breath in
a breath out
1
2
3
4
breath in
breath out
1
2
3
4
5
I hold my breath
6
in
out
I breathe again
1
2
3
4
5
6
.
I send for your mum
and your dad
and your sister
and your step dad
and your step mum
and our children.
.
You’re worried
because i’m worried.
.
But we act normal.
We hang out for a few hours.
There’s no other way to describe it.
.
The kids eat bacon sandwiches
and cheesy chips
do their homework
watch tv
play jenga.
.
They tell you about their day at school,
whats happening tomorrow:
we can visit their classrooms
there is a trip to a lego exhibition
futsal after school.
.
Eventually they say goodbye.
Possibly for the final time.
.
And I sit by your bedside and watch you sleep.
.
10pm
I count the seconds between your breaths.
11pm
I count the seconds.
12am
I count.
.
You stir.
Open your eyes.
And smile at me.
I smile back.
.
1am
2am
3am
I count.
.
The nurse comes in to check your syringe-driver.
“Have you slept?” she asks me.
I shake my head.
She leaves.
.
I kiss your head.
You hum lightly in a way that means ‘that was nice’.
I sit down.
1
2
3
4
I count.
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On Coping is my story of surviving on the sidelines of cancer. It begins in 2022 with On Coping #1, written the day after my 41st birthday. The day my wife Imogen, the mother of my three children, was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. It’s the story of what happened next. Read from the start.